


Practical Matters

by phantisma



Category: White Collar
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Permanent Injury, Serious Injuries, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:52:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What starts out as a typical white collar case becomes anything but when an old acquaintance of Neal's surfaces, and Neal tries to protect his friends the only way he knows how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The problem with his current situation, Neal decided, was that there were too many people. The time he spent in prison had only increased his love of quiet and solitude.

Not that he didn't love the people around him, for some value of love at any rate.

But there was no denying his life had gotten crowded since his escape.

On a night like this, he could feel it closing in around him as he woke. Or maybe it was Elizabeth's head on his shoulder. Or Peter's hand draped over her hip and onto Neal's stomach.

Or possibly it was the fact that he'd never fallen asleep here before. Not like this. There was the one night, on the couch after too many beers and a long day with far too many close calls, but not like this. Not after…

Neal rubbed his eyes and contemplated how to slip away without waking the two of them. It took delicate maneuvering to move his shoulder so that she slipped onto the pillow. He paused to make sure it wasn't going to wake her, then sat up.

Moving slowly and quietly, he gathered his clothes, though he couldn't find one sock in the dark. He tiptoed into the bathroom and turned on the shower without turning on the light.

It wasn't that he was ashamed. He'd let himself be drawn into this, whatever this was and it was probably crazy, more so than any of his scheming had ever been, but it wasn't shame that had him sneaking out in the small hours of the morning.

It was practical.

Peter had an early morning and Mozzie had been hanging out at Neal's place a lot lately, even when Neal wasn't there. There would be questions if Neal didn't come home at all.

Besides, this was Peter and Elizabeth's house. Peter and Elizabeth's bed. He didn't actually belong there.

He rinsed off and stepped out of the shower, drying off and dressing quickly. He eased out of the bathroom and down the stairs, but stopped at the bottom as Elizabeth, wrapped in a fluffy white robe, smiled at him, his missing sock in her hands.

"You running away?" she asked, and though her tone was light, her eyes showed concern.

"Just going home." He took the sock and sat on the stairs to put it on.

"You could stay." She brought him his shoes from where he'd dropped them by the couch early in the evening.

"I could." Neal agreed, leaning back to look up at her. "But I wouldn't want it to get weird."

The corner of her mouth quirked upward. "Weirder?"

He smiled and nodded. "Yeah, that." He bent to put his shoes on.

"I called you a cab."

"You didn't have to do that, El." Neal stood, rubbing his hands down his pants and stepping off the last stair.

She smiled as she drew him in, tilting her face up and brushing a kiss over his lips. "It was that or wake Peter and make him take you."

Of course it was. This was Elizabeth. "In that case, thank you."

Her arms slipped around his waist and tugged her against him. "It's okay, Neal," she whispered against his lips.

He nodded and let her draw him into a deeper kiss, her tongue sliding against his, at least until the sound of a car pulling up interrupted. "Get some sleep, El." Neal said softly, taking his hat off the coat rack and settling it on his head.

"Night." She stood at the door until he was in the cab, lifting a hand in goodbye as they pulled away.

It wasn't quite one in the morning when they pulled up outside June's house. Neal paid the driver and climbed from the cab. The only light on in the house was in his apartment.

"Mozzie." Neal murmured as he headed in. As he expected, Mozzie was in his chair, drinking his wine and reading a newspaper. "Moz."

He looked up. "Oh, you're home."

"I do live here." Neal put his hat of the coat rack by the door and slipped out of his jacket before going to pour himself some of the wine. "You don't."

Mozzie put down the newspaper. "You have something I need."

Neal snorted. "You know all my hiding places."

"I highly doubt I know all of them." Mozzie stood. "Besides, you have better wine."

"So, you waited here hoping I'd come home some time tonight?"

Mozzie squinted at him from behind his glasses. "I thought you had dinner with the suit and Mrs. Suit."

"I did." Neal drank from his glass and turned away. "But it's a long way between here and there. I might have gotten distracted."

"Were you with Sarah?" Mozzie asked, his expression unreadable.

"What? No." Neal hoped the rush of panic didn't show on his face. "I was at Peter's." It was too close to the truth.

Mozzie sensed that somehow and now he wasn't going to let it go. "Until one in the morning? Must have been some dinner."

"It was, if you must know. Elizabeth is an excellent cook." He drained his wine. "It was nice and we talked. A lot."

Mozzie had that look on his face and Neal knew he needed to re-direct this conversation or have to start spinning a story. “So what is it you’re looking for that you think I have?”

“The Dolchek.”

Neal stopped and looked at him, blinking. “I don’t have the Dolchek. I never did.”

“Huh.” Mozzie put down his wine glass. “I was sure you had it. You made that copy, the one you gave Kate.”

“From pictures.” Neal was frowning now, trying to figure out why Mozzie would want the diminutive statue.

It was one of those pieces that never really stayed in anyone’s hands too long. Stolen and recovered at least ten times over its one hundred and thirty year history, it was an exquisitely detailed Lipizzaner stallion that was only ten and half inches tall.

Its origins were murky at best and the name of the piece was lost in time, leaving only the name Dolchek, supposedly the name of the artist that sculpted it as a gift for the new born Olga Alexandrovna, youngest daughter of the Russian Emperor Alexander III. Its fame, and subsequent value, had as much to do with its story as the artistic merit, which was exceptional on its own.

Add to that the fact that it was the only known piece of the artist to survive, and the story told of the artist himself, and the tiny little piece had become something of a legend.

The facts that Neal had seen it in the same week in which it was last stolen, from a museum in Kiev, and that he had produced a pretty fine copy once upon a time were all that tied him to it, however.

Of course, none of that would explain why Mozzie wanted it, or why he thought Neal had it.

“Are you going to explain?”

Mozzie shrugged and slipped his bag over his shoulder on his way to the door. “It’s late, I should go.”

“Mozzie?” Neal followed him. He pushed the door closed before Mozzie could get out. “Spill.”

“I just thought you had it.” Mozzie fidgeted and Neal shook his head.

“Who’s looking for it?”

Again, Mozzie shrugged. “Word on the street is someone with a lot of money they’re willing to spend to get it.”

"Really, that's all you've got?" Neal leaned on the door, but he could tell Mozzie was done talking for now. "Fine. I don't have it. I never did."

"My mistake. Can I go now?"

Neal let him go, shaking his head as he closed and locked the door. He stripped on his way to bed. The last twenty-four hours had been a bit of a whirlwind and he could worry about Mozzie and whatever scheme he was getting up into in the morning.

 

 

 

Peter came in from lunch with Elizabeth to find Neal had finally shown up, his head bent over some file. He stopped at the desk where Neal sat. "Everything all right?" It was a loaded question, and Peter knew it, covering far more than whatever odd case had caught Neal's attention.

Neal looked up briefly, then away, back to the picture in his hand. "Fine." It was a non-answer that gave Peter no insight into why Neal had bolted in the middle of the night or he had shown up so late. He couldn't detect any remorse for what they'd done, and it wasn't like they hadn't played around before, but it wasn't like Peter could just ask him. Not here.

"What are you looking at? New case?"

Neal sat back in his chair, lifting the photo to look at. "I'm not sure." He bit his lip, squinting at the picture, then handed the picture to Peter. "Do you know this piece?"

Peter took the picture and looked over it. He shook his head. "I don't think so. Do I want to?"

"Maybe." Neal picked up the file and handed it to Peter. "It's got a colorful history, made for a princess, stolen during political unrest, lost, found, stolen again and again."

"Okay, so what's the angle?"

Neal stood, looking over the edge of the file. "Dexi Tartikov, she was the last legitimate owner, depending on how loosely you use the word." Neal leaned back on the desk, arms crossed. “She loaned it to a museum in Kiev a few years back, as part of an exhibit of art once belonging to the Romanov family. It was stolen from the museum, two days after I was there, actually.”

Peter raised an eyebrow and waited. Neal rolled his eyes. “I didn’t take it. I wouldn’t have. The one on display was a fake. A very good fake, but not worth stealing. Someone took it though, leading some to believe it was me.”

Peter closed the file and tucked it up under his arm. “Okay, so far all you’ve given me is a story.”

“Tartikov recovered the Dolchek from a private collector and produced the provenance to prove that it was real and that it was rightfully hers to claim. She’s a distant descendant of the Romanovs. Paid a tidy sum to the governments involved to keep it. But because of the history of the piece, she didn’t want it put on display. So she commissioned the copy.”

Peter opened the file again, squinting at the picture. “Are you saying that you knew it was a copy because you copied it?”

Neal held up both hands. “It was a legit job for the owner of the piece. I made two copies. The first one wasn’t close enough to perfect. The second is the one she put on display, and loaned to the museum.”

“So it was the second one that was stolen.” Peter gestured toward his office and started that way, with Neal following.

“From the museum, yes.”

Peter set the file down on his desk and exhaled slowly. “Why do I feel like this is just the beginning of this story?”

Neal sat in the chair opposite Peters and sighed. “I found out a year or so later, that the original was stolen from Tartikov’s private vault as well.”

“At the same time?”

Neal shrugged. “She’s never been completely honest about it, so I don’t know.”

“And what happened to that first copy?”

“I gave it to Kate.” Neal shifted a little uncomfortably and looked away. “I’m not sure where it ended up.”

Peter wasn’t sure if the discomfort was Neal being less than honest with him or the reminder of Kate. He decided the best course of action was to deflect him back onto the topic at hand. “So, what brought this up now, if this was all years ago?”

Neal looked back at him. “Someone is looking for it.”

“Someone?”

“Haven’t figured out who, but they clearly think I have it or at least know where it is.”

“And you know this how?”

Neal made a face. “Let’s just say I was asked about it recently.”

“So, Mozzie.”

“Yeah, okay, Mozzie.”

“Explain to me why this has you bothered.” Peter could see it if he looked, and lately, Peter looked. He was starting to learn his way around Neal’s body language a lot better than he had when they were just working together.

To his credit, Neal didn’t even try denying it. He stood, hands in his pockets, and crossed to the window. “Until today only three people knew that I ever had my hands on the original.”

“Tartikov, you…and…who?”

Neal didn’t respond for a long time, and when he did, it was not what Peter expected. Neal inhaled and turned to Peter, a false smile on his face. “You know, I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m just going to ask around a little on the sly, see if anything turns up.”

"Neal—" Peter stood, but Neal was already gone, out of the office and down the stairs, and in his place Hughes was leaning into his office.

"My office, I have a case for you."

Peter stood, still watching Neal as he followed Hughes.

"Close the door."

Peter dragged his eyes away from Neal and did as he was told. Hughes handed him a file. "We need to act fast, before this gets away."

"What is it?" Peter flipped open the file, his eyes darting over the familiar picture, then back to the door. "That son of a—" He went to the door, intending to call Neal in, but Neal was gone.

"Burke?"

He sighed and shook his head. "Neal just brought me this same file."

"Did he?"

Peter nodded, thumbing through the file. It was more complete than the one Neal had brought him.

"We got a tip last night that there was going to be a sale of high priced stolen art here in New York in the next few days. The only thing specifically mentioned was that piece."

"The Dolchek." Peter looked up at his boss. "Where'd the tip come from?"

"A CI who puts together buyers and sellers of unique pieces. He was contacted by someone looking to buy this about a month ago. Then two days ago, someone contacted him looking to feel out the market, claiming to have it."

"What's it worth?" Peter asked.

"It was last appraised at something close to a million dollars, but if it can be proven to be real, it's probably worth three times that now."

"Any ideas on who the seller or buyer is?"

"Couple on either side. No real proof. I figured this was right up Caffrey's alley."

"Probably so far up it we don't want all the details." Peter murmured. "I'll get the team started."

 

 

The more he thought about the Dolchek, the less comfortable he was. There were parts of his life no one, even Peter or Mozzie, ever knew about. There were people in his past he would just as soon forget ever existed.

The problem with that was…they did exist, and Neal was pretty sure he was about to be reminded of that in the case of one man.

There was only one person who knew enough to use the Dolchek to flush Neal out. If that's what was going on. He had his doubts, because really, he wasn't all that hard to find.

Still. Neal couldn't stop thinking about it now that it had been brought up. Because the picture in the FBI's file on the Dolchek was of a fake, and not his fake. It was good, maybe better than his. And that could only have happened in the presence of the real thing.

Which meant that whoever stole it copied it, or had it copied. And only a handful of people in the world had the skill.

Neal slid into the coffee shop behind a group of giggling teenagers, and slipped into a seat at a table beside a woman doing a very good impression of a classic geek, her mousy brown hair in messy pigtails, the black frame on her glasses thick and sliding down her nose, her oversized striped shirt at odds with the long corduroy skirt over worn out chucks.

She groaned, but didn't put down her book. "Not today, Neal. I'm busy."

"Aw, come on Grace, I just want to have a cup of coffee with a friend."

"We're not friends, and you don't have coffee. What do you want?"

"I'm looking for the Dolchek." He decided honest and straight forward was his best play. At least until she kicked him under the table. "Ow."

"Keep your voice down. I’m not looking to get dead today." She put the book down and looked around them while she raised her coffee.

"Whoa, what are you talking about?" Neal asked, his eyes skimming the place now too.

"Look, the only thing I know about that particular piece is Joey Pecotti is brokering a deal between a seller who claims to have it and several buyers looking to buy it. And the last person who had their hands on it is dead."

"Pecotti is handling it?" Neal frowned. Pecotti was not the most discreet middle man, and he and Neal had never really gotten along. "When is this happening?"

"Tomorrow, from what I heard. But you didn't hear it from me."

"Okay, fine. One last thing."

She rolled her eyes and looked at him. "What?"

"Have you heard any whispers about…Nigel Ethan being in town?" He stood, his eyes checking the people around them, as if the name alone was enough to conjure the man.

"The Collector? No, I don't think so."

Neal slipped a business card onto the table. "If you do, call me."

He slipped his hat on as he exited the building, keeping his eyes moving but trying to look nonchalant. His phone rang and he knew it would be Peter before he pulled it out of his pocket.

"Hello Peter."

"Where are you?"

"Just having coffee with a friend."

"Get your ass back to the office. Hughes just handed me a case."

"I'm on my way." Neal pushed all thoughts of the Dolchek or the Collector to the back of his brain, and turned on his heel to head for the FBI. He need to focus on whatever case Peter had for them, and not let Nigel Ethan play head games with him.

 

 

 

Peter could tell Neal was distracted, even nervous, before he even reached the conference room. His eyes danced to Peter's, then over the scattered paperwork on the table. There was a question in those eyes.

"Okay, now that Caffrey has decided to join us, let's get started. Hughes kicked this down." He made sure to make eye contact with Neal, making sure he understood that Peter hadn't started this just on Neal's whim. "The piece in question is called the Dolchek. It is a one of a kind."

Neal licked his lips, hesitating only a second before he stepped into place. "It is the only work known to have survived by this artist, an Ivan Petrovsky Dolchek. It was made for the youngest daughter of the Russian Emperor Alexander the 3rd. It disappeared around the time of the revolution, reappeared in Stockholm a few years later, was stolen again. It surfaced briefly in London, then vanished for almost fifty years. It was found in the home of a wealthy private collector after his passing, which is when Dexi Tartikov laid claim to it. She had the provenance and the family records to prove that it was rightfully hers. However, it was stolen from her several years ago and current whereabouts are unknown."

He picked up the picture and looked at it for a minute. "It is an exquisite piece, very detailed. Stands ten and a half inches tall, but is worth a conservative million dollars, possibly more now."

"And, according to one of our CI's it is up for sale, right here in New York City." Peter added, watching Neal. He already knew that, he didn't even blink. "So our job is to find out who's doing the selling and recover the art."

"Why don't we just wait until the CI sets up the buy and grab him then?" Jones asked.

"This kind of sale will be done without exposing the buyer or the seller." Neal explained. "There will be an agreement made on the price, negotiated through the middle man. Money will be moved electronically, then the seller will make a drop, feed the drop location to the middle man, who will give it to the buyer."

"Making it difficult to just show up and nab the bad guys." Peter said. "So, we need to find out who it is that is selling the piece. Get on it."

The room started to empty out, but Peter caught Neal's elbow and held him back, closing the conference room door. "What aren't you telling me?"

Neal licked his lips and exhaled slowly. "I…I don't know anything for sure."

"Neal. We made a promise to each other, remember?" Peter pinned him to the door, hands on Neal's hips.

Neal closed his eyes. "I'm being honest. I don't know anything for sure."

"But you have an idea."

He nodded. "I…okay. I have a name, but I'm not sure which side he's on. Hell, I'm not even sure if he's involved."

He moved away from Peter, crossing to the big windows to stand staring out at the fading light of the day, his hands in his pockets. "His name is Nigel Ethan. He's known as The Collector."

"What does he collect?"

Neal stiffened noticeably. "Whatever he wants. Pretty things, pretty people, pretty much anything."

"How do you know him?"

Neal went quiet, his back to Peter.

"Neal?"

He sighed. "He…tried to collect me, once upon a time."

"He what?"

Neal turned and shook his head. "It's a long story, and we have a case."

"You're not getting off that easy here. Not when you say something like that."

Neal rubbed a hand down his face and thought about it for a minute. "Okay, long story short…we were brought together by a mutual acquaintance while I was in Kiev. I was working on the Dolchek at the time. He was interested, I wasn't. I finished the work and beat it the hell out of Kiev."

There was more to the story, Peter could tell. But, it was all he was getting out of Neal for the moment. "Okay, I'll have Diana run the name, see what we can find on the guy."

Neal nodded. "Good. Something isn't right here, Peter. I don't like it."

"Noted. Why don't you head home then. We can manage this without you." He expected an argument. When he didn't get one, when Neal just nodded and brushed past him and disappeared, Peter knew that this was much more than a brush with a guy who wanted Neal.

Much more.

 

 

 

To be honest, Neal had always thought Mozzie went overboard when it came to his personal security, the conspiracy theories and all making him just a touch paranoid.

But now he was glad he paid attention anyway. He took a cab from the FBI offices to the center of his two mile radius, walked a few blocks and took another cab from a different company to the east end of his radius, then walked home.

Even then, he was glad June was away for the week visiting with friends. He locked the doors behind him and felt only slightly more safe in his apartment. The thing he knew about Nigel Ethan was that the man was insatiable…and once he decided to add something to his collection, he wouldn't be stopped.

The man had money and reach and influence. He was also not afraid of anything, which made him dangerous.

He had warned Neal the last time they had seen one another that he would be back for him. Had promised Neal that one day he would add Neal to his collection…that no price was too high, no prison so secure that he would not get what he wanted.

Neal wiped sweaty hands down his pants and let himself out onto the rooftop patio. The sun was down and the lights of the city spread out around him. He'd gotten accustomed to prison. Learned to wait, to be patient and still. He'd found a place here, with Peter. With Peter and Elizabeth. He hadn't even given thought to leaving in so long.

But knowing that Nigel was out there, somewhere, and coming for him had Neal ready to run. He wouldn't let Peter or Elizabeth or Mozzie, or any of the FBI people he'd grown to like get hurt for him.

If he ran now, Nigel would follow him.

If he ran now, Peter and the others would all be safe.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Mozzie, I need you to liquidate anything you can. Tonight."

 

 

"Have you seen Neal?" Peter asked as Diana appeared in his doorway.

She shook her head. "Not yet, but it's early."

"What do you have for me?" Peter was concerned, but he had nothing really to go on, just the way Neal had acted.

Diana handed him a file. "This Nigel Ethan guy is a piece of work. He's been connected to any number of art heists and other thefts in the last fifteen years, but nothing stuck. He's rumored to be responsible for a number of grisly deaths, though no one's ever been able to pin anything on him. He has dual citizenship, US and France. Lot of money, a lot of powerful friends, including Senators and foreign heads of state. He's known as the Collector, and has a reputation for being able to get anything he wants."

"This him?" Peter lifted a picture. The man in it was fairly average, aside from his three thousand dollar suit, dark hair, pale complexion, dark green eyes. He wasn't heavy or especially muscled, he looked like your average wall street shark.

"Yeah, he has a place here in town. Customs has him coming in from Paris three days ago." She reached over and flipped the pages of the file. "That's not all."

He followed where her finger was pointing, frowning hard at the words on the page. "Are you serious?"

"Again, nothing has ever been proven, but there are reports that tie him to it."

And just like that, this case had gotten bigger than his little white collar unit could handle on their own. "Can we get this Agent Billson in here?"

"She's on her way from Washington." Diana said.

"Let me know the minute she gets in." Peter looked up at here. "And find Neal."

Neal hadn't been exaggerating about the man. If anything, he'd seriously understated the whole thing. If the file was telling the truth about Nigel Ethan, Neal had a right to be afraid of him.

Human trafficking was no small matter.

 

 

 

"Don't ask." Neal said in way of greeting as he opened the door for Mozzie, taking the envelope.

"The less I know the better." Mozzie agreed, though he eyed the suitcase waiting by the door.

"Thanks, Moz. You might want to lay low a while. Peter might not be the only one looking for me."

"I can handle the suit."

Neal nodded. "Take care of yourself." He put the envelope in his inside jacket pocket alongside his new passport and other papers, and reached for his hat. For the moment, he wanted to be himself. Once he was on the train, he would slough of Neal Caffrey and become someone else.

"You got everything you need?" Mozzie asked as Neal lifted his suitcase.

Neal nodded. "I'm good, Moz."

"Well, be careful."

"Always."

Neal left Mozzie standing there, in the doorway of his apartment. Outside, in the early morning sun, he slipped on a pair of shades and adjusted his grip on the suitcase. He had a plan. He would get on a train heading north.

Before the train left the station, he would cut the anklet, drop the suitcase and get off again. By the time Peter and the others found the anklet, Neal would be in Athens or Sydney, anywhere but where they were looking for him.

That was the plan.

His phone rang about the time he got to the station. He gave thought to not answering, but figured that could get Peter down on him faster than he wanted. He checked the caller ID and answered the phone.

"Diana."

"Neal, Peter's looking for you."

"Peter knows where I am Diana. So do you. I'm not hard to find."

"Okay, so I know where you are, but Peter told me to find you and get you in here."

"I'm following up on a lead." Neal said. "Give me a half hour. I'll be there."

"Half hour. One minute longer and I'll come bust your ass myself."

Neal smiled. "I know you will. Bye, Diana."

He ended the call and dropped the phone in the trashcan before he turned and entered the station.

It wasn't until he was on the train and the anklet was cut that he realized he was in trouble. He didn’t see them, not until the needle bit into his hip. Then an arm slipped around his waist. “Easy, sir. We’ve got you.”

His knees buckled and those hands lowered him into a chair. “You’re on the wrong train sir, your father is waiting for you.” Neal tried to protest, but his words came out all jumbled and before they even had him out of the car, he was out.

 

 

 

"Caffrey's anklet's been cut." Jones said, loud enough to grab Peter's attention. He was up and away from his desk in seconds.

"What? Where?"

"It was cut at Grand Central, moving north."

"Stop that train." Peter told him, already pulling his jacket on.

"He was there when I called him a few minutes ago." Diana said, her phone in her hand.

"Call him again." Peter's stomach sank. He had trusted Neal with far more than just his freedom. He couldn't believe that Neal would break that trust. Not without a damn good reason.

"No answer." Diana said.

"Get units rolling to wherever that train is. Find him." He wiped his mouth. "Diana, you're with me."

"Where?"

"Neal's apartment. He was trying to tell me something last night." He dialed Neal's number, not surprised when it dumped right to voicemail. "You drive."

Peter wasn't sure what he was expecting, but his heart raced him into the apartment. Everything was neat and orderly, nothing clearly out of place except for an envelope on the kitchen table with his name on it and an opening in the kitchen wall that Peter imagined used to hide something.

Diana headed to the bedroom while Peter lifted the envelope, opening it as if something might explode.

>   
>  Dear Peter,
> 
> There are no words to thank you for everything you have done for me since we met. This is not what I wanted, to leave like this…but if I stay…the last time…well, we all know how it ended with Kate. If I go now maybe it won't hurt as much…
> 
> I tried not to care for you, for Elizabeth…but you both make it impossible.
> 
> I won't let either of you get hurt. Say goodbye to her for me? I always sucked at goodbyes.
> 
> Neal

He was gone.

Peter sat down hard in the chair, dropping the letter to the table.

Neal ran.

"No sign of—" Diana came to a stop, her eyes darting over Peter and around the room. "Boss?"

"He's gone. We won't find anything here. We're better off with the train. Someone had to see something."

 

 

 

Neal groaned and tried to lift his head, but the drugs had him woozy and everything felt heavy. They were moving, he was still in the wheelchair, and they were moving.

A blanket covered his lap and legs, hiding the fact that his hands were…bound somehow. He couldn't feel his fingers exactly.

"Easy, sir, we're almost there," a voice said in his ear. It wasn't Nigel. That didn't make him feel better.

"He shouldn't be awake," another voice said.

"I'm not dosing him again so soon. We'll just have to make do."

Neal was vaguely aware of people around them, of the smell of water, salt water.

"Boss won't like it if he's awake too soon."

"Look at him, he's not awake. He's just not completely out. You got the keys?"

"Yeah, I got the keys."

"Go on ahead and get the doors open."

Neal tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were heavy, thick. He tried to say something, but all that came out was groaning. They rolled over a series of bumps, then he was being pushed up and incline.

He fought to stay awake, to move, to do something besides be a passive passenger, but the drugs weren't done with him and by the time they reached the top of the incline, Neal was dragged back down into the dark.

 

 

 

"Anything?" Peter asked as he and Diana finally got to the scene.

Jones came toward them, holding a bag with the anklet. "Not much. Neal left this and a suitcase. We're questioning the other passengers, but mostly we’re getting a lot of people saying they didn’t notice anything.”

“He was here when he cut it. Someone has to have seen something.”

His attention was drawn to an older woman talking to one of their agents. “The fella said the poor boy had just gotten confused, got on the wrong train, bless his heart.”

“Wait, you saw someone taken off this train?” Peter asked.

She nodded, clutching at her purse. “Yes, sir. He looked confused when he got on, and he bent over, looking like he was going to fall, then these other men got on and helped him, said he’d wandered away from his father, shouldn’t be on his own, heavy medication or something. They put him in a wheelchair and took him off the train.”

Peter felt his stomach tighten. “Did you get a look at any of these men? Is this the man they took?” He held up a picture of Neal. She nodded, her wrinkled finger pointing to him.

“Yes, that was him, poor soul.”

“What about the others?”

“Oh, they were big men, in suites and sunglasses.”

“Like private security.” The speaker was a younger woman who stepped up beside the older one. “I saw them too. Only, he didn’t really look like he knew them. He was surprised when he stood up, then confused, and he was pretty out of it when they wheeled him away.”

“They drugged him.” Peter turned to find Diana. “Get the rest of their statements.” Peter said to the agent beside him. He grabbed Diana’s elbow. “I don’t think Neal left here under his own power.”

“You don’t think he was running?”

He shook his head. “No, he was running, but I don’t think it went the way he planned. I want the surveillance video for this platform and all exits, and I want it now. We’re looking for two men with a wheelchair.”

“On it.” She sprinted off toward the men in station security and Peter forced himself to draw in a deep breath. Neal was resourceful and he’d dealt with this guy before. Assuming this was Nigel Ethan.

He would be okay until Peter found him. He had to believe that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What starts out as a typical white collar case becomes anything but when an old acquaintance of Neal's surfaces, and Neal tries to protect his friends the only way he knows how.

Cold air shivered across his skin, pulling him up from dark dreams into a room that was entirely too bright for his current situation, or state of undress.

Neal lifted his hands to rub at his face, stopping when he saw his hands. They were trapped inside huge wrappings of gauze and tape, turning them into mitts.

“I learned from our last encounter.”

Neal looked up. Nigel was sitting in a chair, a small smile on his face, dressed in an immaculate suit, his legs crossed, watching Neal. Watching Neal inside the three foot by three foot cage across the room from him. Cage.

“It is, of course, a temporary measure. I figure breaking every delicate bone should be enough to keep you from ever picking a lock again, am I right?”

“Nigel, lets be reasonable.” Neal said, getting on his knees inside the cage.

The smile fled Nigel’s face. “We tried reasonable once, Neal. I asked politely. I cajoled. I seduced. I bought you beautiful things to wear.”

“I never asked for any of that. I didn’t want it. I still don’t.” Neal shifted, uncomfortable with the entire situation.

“I gave you everything you could want in Versailles.”

“You drugged me and locked me in handcuffs in a room with no windows.” Neal amended.

“You had a beautiful, comfortable bed, any food you could desire, books and music...”

“I’m not some doll you can just…keep.” Neal argued, though he knew it was pointless.

Nigel stood. “We shall soon see the truth of that. I have some business to attend to, but I will be back soon, and we’ll get started on that hand problem.”

He left the room, left Neal alone. In a cage. With his hands hidden away under gauze and tape…which left him with no way out, no way to escape.

Nigel had played him well, pushed him into running, into cutting all ties he had with anyone before Nigel even showed his hand. Which meant Neal couldn’t even count on Peter coming to his rescue.

 

 

 

 

“Agent Melissa Billson, I’m looking for Agent Peter Burke?”

Peter looked up at the sound of his name, lifting a hand as he stood. “El, I’ll call you later. Yes, I know. We’ll find him.”

He hung up the phone and emerged from his office. Billson approached with a smile. “I’m sorry it took so long. I got held up—“

“I’m afraid the situation has changed, Agent Billson. Please come into my office.”

“Melissa, please.”

Peter held the door for her and closed it behind them. “So, what’s changed?” she asked as she took a seat.

Peter didn’t sit. He stood at the window. “We believe that Nigel Ethan has abducted one of our men.” His heart thumped, the sound of Elizabeth’s fear in his head.

“An agent? That’s not his style.”

“Not an agent. A consultant. My consultant.” Peter turned to look at her. “Neal Caffrey, he’s a con who helps us catch other cons.”

He heard her briefcase pop open and papers shuffle. He turned as she pulled out a file. “This Neal Caffrey?” She opened the file and dropped it on his desk. Peter crossed to it, already nodding.

“That’s him.”

She nodded. “When your agents contacted me, I checked all of Ethan’s known contacts and associates in New York. Caffrey’s name came up. They’ve crossed paths before. Do you know anything about their relationship?”

Peter shook his head. “Honestly I don’t know. Neal didn’t say much about him. Just that he liked to collect things, and people.”

“We have him tied to multiple kidnappings and disappearances, both here and abroad, but nothing we can pin on him. But this might be his first real mistake.”

“How so?”

“I have a man inside his organization. Ethan’s been watching your man since he got into town. Had two of his most trusted men on him, waiting for something.”

Peter nodded. “Waiting for Neal to be spooked enough to run. So we’d be busy looking for an escaped con and not an abducted man.”

“But he’s not ready to leave New York yet.” She pulled more paperwork from her briefcase. “According to my last information from my agent, he’s got a big transaction happening in two days.”

“What kind of transaction?”

“He isn’t high enough to find out, but he assures me that Ethan isn’t leaving New York until it’s done.” She stood, lips pressed together. “Ethan is an obsessive man. The closest we have ever come to catching him was when he wouldn’t leave Orlando, Florida two years ago until he had what he came there for. If your man is what he’s obsessing over, it’s a very good chance he’s alive and unharmed.”

“And I aim to see he stays that way.” Peter said, his voice a dark growl.

 

 

Neal shifted as far back in the cage as he could as the door opened and Nigel returned. He had three men with him. Two of the men pulled a heavy block of stone in on a wheeled dolly. Nigel smiled softly at Neal.

“Now, I want you to remember that this is for your own good, Neal. It’s a practical matter. I don’t want you getting yourself hurt trying to get away. He crossed to the cage door, unlocking it. “And we both know you will try.”

“No. No, I won’t, Nigel. I promise.”

Nigel’s smile was indulgent. “You’ve promised before. Don’t you remember? You promised me you’d be good. You humored me, even let me take you into my bed…and all the while you were just waiting to run away from me.”

He reached in, grabbing Neal by the hair and dragging him out into the room. “Boys, gentle now. I don’t want bruises.”

The men moved in and pulled Neal toward the stone. “Nigel, please. We can talk about this. You know I can’t stand pain.” Neal’s stomach twisted at the site of the third man, rolling out a leather sleeve filled with tools.

“That’s something you should have considered, Neal, before you ran away from me.”

They pushed him to his knees, one of them twisting his left arm up behind his back while the other pulled his right hand up onto the block. “Nigel, I’m begging you.”

Nigel’s hand cupped his chin. “I do like it when you beg.”

“Don’t do this. I’ll do anything.”

Nigel nodded slowly. “Yes, when we’re done here you will, because you will realize where you belong and who your belong to, and you will never leave me again.”

He stepped away and the third man came toward him, a pair of scissors in his hand. Neal was held in place as he cut through the gauze. He pulled hard against the hand that held his in place, but he wasn’t getting loose.

“Nigel…”

The hammer in the man’s hand looked ominous. He slowly pried Neal’s fingers open, covering Neal’s hand with his own, leaving only the pinky uncovered. Neal tensed. The hammer came down against his fingernail, then against the middle and then against the lower bone. That was about when the pain fully registered.

Neal yelled and pulled on his hand, the pain burning like a line of fire down his finger. He almost wasn’t even aware of the second finger getting the same treatment. After the third, the man paused, moving away, disappearing out the door and when he returned, he had an ice pack. He arranged it gently over Neal’s mangled fingers, then turned his attention to the uninjured ones.

Tears burned down Neal’s face, and his voice failed him as his thumb broke. The men behind him were holding him up more than they were holding him down as the ice pack was shifted again and the hammer turned to the bones of his hand.

Neal was close to passing out when Nigel’s voice cut through the torment. “A knuckle or two for good measure, Antony, if you don’t mind.”

“No…” Neal protested weakly, but he no longer had control over his hand at all, it was just a throbbing mass of pain that felt almost as if it wasn’t even really his. The hammer fell again and Neal screamed soundlessly, falling head first into the fire.

 

 

Elizabeth met him at the door, worry in every line of her body. “Anything?”

He shook his head wearily and kissed her as they moved inside and he shut the door. “Not yet. I’m just here to grab a shower and a change of clothes. I’ve got to get back to the office.”

“You should sleep.” Her hand rubbed down his back.

“No time, honey. I’ll sleep when we find him.”

She followed him up the stairs, sitting uneasily on the bed as he started undressing. Fatigue pulled at him, it had been close to twenty four hours since Neal had cut his anklet. They had twenty four more to find him before Ethan moved his operation out of their jurisdiction again.

“Is he okay? You don’t think he’s…”

Peter crossed to kiss her forehead. “Neal’s a resourceful guy. I’m sure he’s fine. This guy doesn’t kill people.”

She hadn’t moved from the bed five minutes later when he emerged from his shower, still upset and pensive. “Why does he want Neal?”

Peter had asked himself that same question any number of times in the last twenty four hours. “He is an obsessive man who collects…” He sighed. There really was no way to white wash it. The man ran human slaves, and not the sort that got calloused knees by washing floors.

He’d gotten a crash course on the seedy world of kidnapped to order slavery. Ethan specialized in a specific sort of the trade. But they were operating under the impression that Ethan wanted Neal for himself. Not that it made anything better.

In fact the idea of that man touching Neal at all made Peter's skin crawl.

Peter got dressed, wishing he had the time for a quick nap, or that he had something to tell Elizabeth to ease the worry from her forehead…but Elizabeth had come to really care for Neal. It was more than sex, but then with Elizabeth it always had been. And honestly, Peter had to start to admit to himself that it had become more than sex for him too.

"We'll find him, El. I promise." Peter said when the silence had stretched on for too long. There were tears in her eyes when she looked up at him.

She wiped them and nodded. "I'll make you a sandwich."

Peter watched her go. Twenty four hours. Less now. He could only hope the team had made progress by the time he got back to the office.

 

 

 

 

The excruciating pain that had sent him plummeting into the darkness also yanked him up out of it, when, in his sleep, Neal had tried to move the hand.

He woke back in the cage, curled on his left side, the right hand heavy against his hip. He breathed against the pain and moved his head to get a look. The hand was splinted against a board cut in the shape of a hand, each finger individually taped down to the wood. The skin he could see was black and purple and swollen.

He swallowed and tried to sit up, gasping when moving made the pain increase. It was almost as if he could feel the bones moving against each other. He tried to balance it, not move it as he sat up, but when he bumped his thumb against his thigh, Neal yelled, his whole body seizing as he vomited, coughing and spewing what little he had in his stomach.

He managed to shift onto his naked ass though, back in the corner of the cage furthest from the door, not that that seemed to make any difference. Neal closed his eyes and fought back the desperate fear that threatened to send him hurtling back into the darkness. He needed to think now, to analyze the situation.

Once the throbbing had eased back a bit and he was accustomed to the level of pain, enough at least to start to see past it, Neal opened his eyes. The room was not much to look at. There was the cage, the chair, a small table beside the chair, some chains dangling from one wall. The floor under him was metal, as was the door, which had no handle on this side.

The lock on the cage was where he couldn't see it from inside, and given that his only functional hand was still wrapped in twenty miles of gauze, that wasn't going to matter.

Nigel clearly had learned a lot from the last time he'd attempted this. In the grand scheme of things, it hadn't been much. Three weeks in Versailles, and Nigel wasn't wrong, as prisons went, it was exquisite, his every need looked after, every desire fulfilled before he could ask. All but the important one.

And yes, Neal had let Nigel seduce him, had let himself be pawed and petted, stroked and fondled and ultimately fucked, but it had given him what he needed to escape.

Somehow he was doubting he'd get that chance again.

The door opened and Neal tensed, his breathing and heartbeat speeding up. Nigel smiled at him, lifting a tray to show him. "I brought something for the pain and fresh ice. Are you hungry?"

"Not particularly." Neal responded, his voice thrashed from screaming. He turned away.

"It isn't much, the doctor was concerned your stomach might be bothered, so it's just some chicken broth and rice." Neal heard the cage unlock. "Oh, I can see your stomach is upset. Always were a little delicate. Come on out, Neal."

"The last time I was out, you smashed my hand into this mess." Neal said around clenched teeth. "Pardon me if I don't trust you."

"Trust is earned, Neal. I told you exactly what I was going to do before I did it. I was honest with you, just as I always have been. Now, I'm going to ice your hand and feed you and give you something for the pain. You can come out on your own and do this the pleasant way, or, I can send for the boys to come in and give me a hand. Which is it to be?"

He considered being stubborn, but Nigel was truthful. As far as Neal could tell, the man had never lied. Cradling his injured hand closer to his body, Neal crawled out of the cage and stood. It was only a few steps, but he couldn't bring himself to crawl across the floor.

Nigel sat in the chair, the tray perched on the table. Neal sank to the floor, crossing his legs and looking up at Nigel. "Lets start with the ice." He was gentle as he guided Neal to lay the hand on his knee, settling frozen gel packs on top. Neal panted through the added pain as Nigel wrapped the hand and ice with a bandage, then let Neal pull it back.

"Water?" Nigel lifted a cup and held it to Neal's mouth, tilting it to pour cool water into him. Neal swallowed as much as he could before Nigel pulled it away. Next he lifted a cup and spoon. "Okay, open up."

Neal wanted to scream, yell, thrash, anything but play along, but he had a taste of what Nigel was capable of, and he didn't want any more pain, so he dutifully opened his mouth and let Nigel spoon the bland broth and rice into his mouth. And when Nigel offered him the pills, Neal took them, praying they were strong enough to let him sleep, while Nigel took whatever pleasure he found in keeping Neal this way.

 

 

 

"Nothing?" Peter asked as Jones and Diana exited the upscale penthouse that was Nigel Ethan's New York residence.

"Nothing. All the art seems legitimate, but we've got someone verifying it." Jones said. "No sign of any hostages, in fact it doesn't look as though Ethan has been here at all. The butler said he hasn't seen him either."

"I somehow doubt he's being honest with us." He was missing something, Peter knew it and this was a step way over the line. He'd strong-armed a warrant, called in all the favors he had. They were running out of time.

"Boss, we got trouble."

Peter caught site of the trouble and raced back into the house, into Ethan's office. There had to be something to tell Peter where he'd taken Neal. Anything.

"Burke!"

Hughes. Very unhappy by the sound. His eyes scanned the walls, certificates and awards and pictures. There. Right there.

He grabbed the picture and turned it over, just getting the back off the frame and the picture out of the frame as his boss burst through the door. Peter hid the picture behind his back.

"What in the name of hell are you doing?"

Peter slipped the folded picture into his back pocket. "I'm following a lead."

"A hunch. A bad hunch based on hearsay and conjecture."

"We've gotten further with less."

"Not when the man who owns the house has the governor of New York on his speed dial."

"He has Neal—"

"Enough. Get outside. This search ends now."

"Sir, if you could just—"

"Outside, before I rethink the governor's suggestion that I take your badge away from you."

"Going."

Peter ducked around him and headed out to Diana and Jones. Hughes was right behind him. "This case ends now."

"But Neal—"

Hughes cut him off with a raised hand. "Is an escaped con. Find him, but leave Nigel Ethan alone. I hear his name again, or see it on a report, I'll have all of your badges. Is that clear?"

Peter seethed with fury, but nodded. "Crystal." He waited until Hughes had stalked off before he pulled the picture out.

"What's that?"

"A hunch." Peter said, walking back toward his car.

They fell into step behind him and he stopped, shaking his head. "No. Not this time. This one is on me."

Diana didn't answer, just snatched the picture out of his hand, her eyes scanning it before she handed it to Jones. "Boat, looks like a luxury yacht. Only a few places in town to tie one of those up."

She was pulling out her phone, walking toward the car while she spoke. "Hey Margi, it's Diana. I need a favor. I have what looks like a large luxury yacht, private owner, probably not listed since we couldn't find the suspect's name on any records…" She snapped her fingers at Jones for the photo and he joined her by the car, handing it over.

"You know we can't go after him." Peter said as he too joined them in the car.

Diana hung up the phone. "Then I guess you don't want the addresses to the three marinas Margi said could handle a boat that size?"

She handed a note over the front seat. For a long moment Peter sat there, wanting to kick them both out of the car. Finally he grabbed the paper and started the car.

Somewhere out there, Neal was alone.

 

 

 

His first real thought was that he wasn't alone…followed by trying to remember if he'd fallen asleep or just zoned out. He was seated on the cold metal floor with Nigel behind him, fingers combing through his hair.

"…soon, of course. Just one last bit of cargo to be loaded, then we'll be leaving."

Neal turned his head, surprised that Nigel was talking. "W-what?"

"Just as I suspected. All zoned out. I was just telling you that we'll be leaving soon. I'm going to expect you to be by my side at the party, of course."

"P-party?" Everything felt off, stilted. Probably the drugs still in his system.

"You haven't heard anything, have you?" Nigel stood. "Honestly Neal, I expected better from you."

"I'm sorry…it's the pain meds." He lifted his left hand to rub at his eyes, forgetting for the moment that it was still a club of gauze bandages.

"Well then, I guess we won't give you more before the party, I want you to sparkle for my guests."

Neal worked himself to standing, cradling the broken hand close to his stomach. "I hope you're going to give me something to wear."

Nigel smiled. "Of course. I had something made for you. But first, you need a bath and a haircut. It's gotten long. Then, Antony will check your hand, and work on your left foot. Once that's done, we'll get you dressed."

"Wait." Neal held up his hand, then shook his head. "What about my foot?"

Nigel stroked his cheek. "I can't have you trying to run away, and I can't have you chained to the chair, this is the most practical solution. You'll see."

"Nigel, I swear I won't—"

His fingers pressed Neal's lips closed. "Enough arguing, come along with me and we'll get you into a nice hot bath."

Neal followed, not certain if Nigel had really lost his mind or the drugs just made Neal unable to follow his logic. Though he was wondering if maybe it wasn't a little of both.

 

 

 

"It looks like they're getting ready to pull out." Diana said beside him.

He needed to make a decision. His gut told him that Neal was on that boat. Hughes had told him not to go after Ethan. In fact he had called twice to reiterate that he was not to go anywhere near the man, or his property.

On the other hand, the boat was owned by a subsidiary company of a subsidiary company of holding company that may or may not track back directly to Ethan.

And Neal was on that boat.

Peter pulled his badge out of his pocket and looked at it. "What I am about to do is illegal and unprofessional. It will likely end up getting me fired. I can't ask—" Before he finished, Diana's badge was on the front seat of the car. Jones dropped his through the open window as well. "Okay." He dropped his and followed it with his suit jacket. "Lets go."

There were any number of people moving on and off the boat, it almost looked like they were getting ready for some sort of party, which, given Ethan's reputation sounded about his style.

They moved along the dock, stopping just short of boxes of champagne. Jones nodded, stuck his gun in it's holster and grabbed a box, stepping onto the boat as easy as that.

"My turn." Diana said, likewise holstering her gun and stepping out of the shadows to talk to two of the men. "What is this?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you know who I am? I came down here because we got a call saying that the entire order got screwed up. The wrong champagne, no caviar. What is going on here?"

Peter watched her berate her way onto the boat. That left him. But, as she went, Diana drew most of the men with her, making it even easier for him to slip on board unnoticed.

 

 

Neal had thought being spoon fed by Nigel was bad, humiliating really…but it was nothing compared to the bath. Made worse by the fact that it was one of Nigel's servants cleaning him. His hands were wrapped in plastic and he was helped into the tub, then cleaned like he was a child.

He flushed even redder than he already was as he was dried off. His skin burned with the humiliation even as he was led from the bathroom into the stateroom. He had managed to figure out they were on a boat, though it had to be a big one, he couldn't feel the water movement at all.

Without the meds, his hand throbbed and it was getting worse. He wasn't entirely certain he wasn't going to pass out even without the meds.

Another servant joined the first, helping him into a pair of boxers while Nigel watched. Next came dress pants, which was where Nigel stopped them. "That will be all for now, gentlemen."

Nigel lifted a pressed white shirt from the bed. "I had it made just for you." He held up a sleeve to show him the split seam lined with Velcro all the way down. "We want you to look smashing, don't we?"

He settled the shirt over Neal's shoulders, slowly and methodically smoothing it out and fitting the seams together before coming around the front and buttoning it up. Neal closed his eyes and turned his face as Nigel took as much time and attention to tuck the shirt tails into his pants, his hands smoothing over Neal's ass and hips, then down around his cock.

Nigel smiled and tugged Neal's face back to his. "You never really liked it when I touched you that way, even though you wanted me to believe you did." His fingers tightened on Neal's chin. "Get used to it. You belong to me now, and tonight, after the party, you will understand that. Completely."

He zipped Neal's pants up and gestured at the wheelchair in the corner. "Sit."

"Nigel—"

Nigel's hand snapped up and across Neal's face. "Stop talking and sit your ass down. You are here to be beautiful, Neal. Not to talk."

There was a knock on the door, followed by the man who had systematically broken Neal's hand. Neal sank into the chair, watching as Antony dropped his leather roll of tools onto the bed. He left them for the moment, coming to check Neal's hand. He lifted it and examined what he could around the tape and bandaging, nodding to himself.

"I imagine this is the most painful thing you have ever experienced." Antony said, his voice lightly accented. He smiled. "I take pride in that."

"Nice." Neal managed, looking away.

"It is fine work." Nigel agreed. "Antony is a medical doctor, so he understands pain as well as the best ways to render a body part useless." Nigel ran a hand appreciatively along the tools in Antony's kit. "Now then, today's job, Antony, is to ensure that he can not walk.

Antony knelt by Neal and lifted his bare foot, nodding slowly. "If he can not walk, he can not run. I understand sir." He ran his fingers over Neal's foot, up to the ankle. "Like the hand, the bones in the feet are delicate. It doesn't take much to break them."

As he spoke, he took Neal's foot in one hand, his ankle in the other and twisted. Neal screamed as the joint popped and at least one bone snapped. His vision swam and he was close to passing out, at least until Antony snapped his fingers in Neal's face. "Oh, we're not done yet, love. Stay with us."

There was something shiny in his hand as Neal tried to focus, not sure what he was doing. Antony lifted Neal's foot again. He could already see swelling. Searing pain helped him focus then, as Antony pulled the scalpel away from the bottom of Neal's foot. His fingers pressed in on the incision and Neal's eyes rolled back.

He wasn't out long, coming to as Antony finished bandaging his foot and ankle. "There you are Mr. Ethan. He won't be going much of anywhere for a while."

"Thank you Antony. We will see you topside."

Nigel walked Antony to the door, closing it behind him and coming back to Neal with a tie in his hands. "Lets just finish getting you ready, so that I can finish myself."

Neal didn't move as Nigel fussed with the tie. He was only barely aware of himself, of anything aside from the raging pain. "Please…" Neal whispered as Nigel moved away.

"Oh, I like it when you ask nicely." Nigel walked away, pulling on his own shirt.

Neal breathed through the pain and lifted his head. "Nigel, god…this is insane."

Nigel smiled at him as he finished tying his tie. "You need to learn to let go, Neal. From here on out you will want for nothing. I will see to your every need. You'll see."

 

 

Peter eased his way down the stairs, scanning the hallways. Jones was searching the next deck down. Diana was still up top.

To make matters worse, the engines were powering up and they were starting to move. If they didn't find Neal soon, they were going to be in even more trouble.

A door opened down the hall and Peter pressed himself into an alcove, daring a glance out. A man pushing a wheelchair was headed his way. Peter stepped out, gun drawn.

They stared at each other for a full minute, then Neal lifted his head, his eyes lighting up with recognition. "Peter."

"Nigel Ethan, FBI." Ethan shoved Neal toward him and took off running the other direction. Peter grabbed the radio in his pocket. "Jones, Diana, Ethan is on the run, headed upstairs. I have Neal. Shut this boat down."

Peter grabbed the chair. "Neal?" He knelt beside it, his hand hovering over Neal's without touching. "What did he do to you?"

"Peter…" Neal shook his head, exhaling, then reaching for his stomach with the gauze wrapped hand. "Gonna be…" He leaned forward, throwing up onto the floor.

"It's okay, Neal. I've got you now. You're going to be okay."

The engines died and his radio buzzed for his attention. "I have the captain, cavalry has been called in." Diana's voice said.

Peter nodded. "Secure the guests, and make sure we have a medical unit responding. Neal's in bad shape."

"Peter…what are you doing here?" Neal asked suddenly, though his voice was hoarse and shot through with pain. He lifted the gauze covered hand, then stopped, his eyes on the bandages. "Get this off…" He started flailing, rubbing the bandages on the arm of the chair, then lifting it to get at the tape with his teeth. "Get it off."

"Easy." Peter trapped the hand with his, his fingers working over it until he found a place to work at the tape. It took a few minutes of trying, but he got the bandages off, freeing Neal's hand.

Neal opened his fingers, then closed them in a fist, then rubbed them over his face. There were tears in the corners of his eyes, and he wiped them away.

"Did you think I'd let you go without a fight?" Peter asked, his hand gentle as it cupped to Neal's face. Neal's hand covered his and he blinked as Peter leaned in, brushing their lips together. It was something they hadn't done before. The two of them. There was always Elizabeth between them, but he needed Neal to know.

"Ow." Neal gasped and pulled back, cradling the obviously injured hand to his chest.

"Right, lets get you upstairs."

"Can't." Neal gasped, running his good hand down his left leg. Peter hadn't even noticed those bandages.

"Okay, we can wait for the paramedics." He stood up straight and looked around them for someplace better than the hallway to wait.

"Don't—" Neal grabbed his hand. "Don't leave me."

Peter held his hand and offered him a small smile. "Not going anywhere."

Jones came from the far end of the corridor, panting. He shook his head. Nigel Ethan had gotten away. Which probably was a good thing. This way Peter might only lose his badge, not end up in prison for murder.

“Get paramedics down here.” Peter said as Jones got closer.

“They’re on their way. Diana has the captain pulling us back into the docking slip now.”

As if on cue, he could hear the rumble of the engines. “The stairs on this end are wider, probably easier to get up.” Jones said, putting his hands on the handles of the chair. Peter nodded, keeping Neal’s hand as they moved.

“Wait, wait, stop.” Neal squeezed Peter’s hand and pulled his free. “In there.” He pointed at an open door. Peter led the way, Jones pushing Neal. The room was lined with paintings and filled with pedestals with sculptures. “I think I’m delusional from the pain.” Neal said with a certain amount of awe. He pointed at a pedestal in the corner. “Over there.”

They moved together to the corner. Neal shook his head and Peter noticed that his hand was shaking. “Is that the Dolchek?” Peter asked as he leaned in to look at the horse.

“No.” Neal said. “It’s the copy I made.”

“How do you know?” Peter asked, reaching for it.

“The base.” Neal pointed as Peter held it. “There, in the grass.”

Peter had to really look where Neal was pointing to find the spot, the tiny “NC” painted into the grass.

“They’re all mine.” Neal said, looking around the room. Peter felt the weight leave his hand, but before he could react, Neal was hurling it across the room. It crashed into another piece and together they fell to the floor, crashing into hundreds of pieces.

“Okay, lets get out of here.” Peter took over pushing the chair, right up to the stairs. Jones ran up the stairs and in a few minutes paramedics were carrying a gurney down.

Peter backed away to let them work, but kept Neal in his sights. When they had him on the gurney, ready to take him up the stairs, Peter took Neal’s hand and squeezed it lightly. “I’m right behind you, okay?”

On the upper decks, local PD were interviewing people and Peter could see his own men starting to circulate. He squared his jaw as he spotted Hughes. He was going to have a lot of explaining to do. He turned away from him and concentrated on Neal.

“Deal with this.” Peter said as Diana joined them. “I’m riding with Neal.” He climbed into the ambulance behind the gurney, sitting beside Neal on the left side. Neal’s hand fumbled for his.

Pain clouded the blue of his eyes before they closed as one of the EMTs worked on his broken right hand. Neal whimpered, a noise like some small, wounded animal and Peter’s heart clenched. “No.” Neal tried to pull the hand away, but that clearly caused even more pain and he cried out, his whole body shaking.

“Hey, hey, Neal. Neal. Look at me.” His head rolled toward Peter, his eyes fluttering open. “Stay with me here, okay?”

It took far too long to reach the ER and when they did, Peter was forced to stay in the waiting area as they took Neal inside. He pulled his phone out as the doors closed, dialing Elizabeth’s number.

“Tell me you found him.”

“Yes, El. He’s…he’s hurt, but he’s safe. We’re at the hospital. He’s going to be okay.”

 

 

Neal stared at the plaster prison holding his hand together as if he expected it to somehow make a miraculous recovery if he could just see it properly. They had told him it would never be the same, in fact they weren’t even sure it would ever be able to hold anything again.

He’d been in surgery for hours. He had pins in two of his fingers and his ankle. At least the drugs were nice. He almost didn’t feel the injuries. Almost. He only wished they could numb the rest of him.

He was trying very hard not to let it sink in, but Nigel had broken him. He would never paint again, not like he did. No sculpting. None of the things that had brought him joy, gave him those moments of peace when nothing existed but the art and letting it flow through him. No sketching random beautiful things on napkins and take out menus.

His life had been cut down to this…to staring at his useless hand and remembering the searing fire of his bones breaking…to waiting to find out if he was going back to prison…to wondering if Peter hated him for running.

The door opened and Neal wiped at suddenly wet eyes before looking up. Elizabeth looked like she was going to cry herself as she swept into the room, flowers in one hand and a container in the other.

“Oh, look at you…” She put the flowers on the side table and came to perch on the bed, her eyes scanning over him. “So pale, and…” Her eyes touched on the hand, then came back to his face.

He was surprised when she kissed him, all soft and gentle and intimate. “Elizabeth…”

She shook her head and pressed a finger to his lips. “No.” She was back to teary eyed and she swallowed before fussing with his blankets. “No arguments. You’re coming home when this is over.”

He blinked and looked away, not wanting to remind her that he might actually be heading back to prison instead. He had run, after all. He had left a note saying goodbye, cut the anklet and—

Her hands grabbed his good hand, wrapping it between them and lifting it to kiss. “Stop, I know what you’re thinking and just stop. You hear me?” She kissed over his knuckles and drew in a deep breath. “Peter promised me. And you…you need someone to look after you.”

“I wouldn’t argue with her.” Peter said as he came into the room, crossing to stand behind Elizabeth, kissing the top of her head.

“No, I can see she’s got her determined face on.” Neal said, though he really did have his doubts. “But…”

Peter covered Elizabeth’s hands over Neal’s. “Doctor said probably tomorrow at the earliest.”

Neal narrowed his eyes, trying to ask the question without asking the question. “We have the guest room already set up for you.”

“Peter, I…I left. I ran.”

“Didn’t happen. You were abducted in the course of a routine investigation, and ultimately you were responsible for ten arrests.”

Neal shook his head. “Wait, what? I don’t understand.”

“The yacht was filled with unsavory people, some of them with outstanding warrants, others had drugs on them. All in all, a successful raid.” Peter grinned at him.

“And Nigel?”

Peter’s smile dimmed a little. “He’s in the wind.”

“He’ll be back.” Neal said, dropping his gaze. He pulled his hand away. Part of him just wanted to curl up and go to sleep and let the darkness swallow him.

“Maybe, but for now, El’s right. You’re coming home with us.”

“I’ll be fine.” Neal insisted.

“Yes, you will be.” Elizabeth agreed, recapturing his hand and drawing his attention. “And you’ll be where people love you.”

Neal felt the air leave his chest for the moment, blinking rapidly. “What?”

Elizabeth looked up at Peter, then down at Neal. “We love you, Neal and we want you to be a part of our lives.”

“Better listen to her, she knows what she’s talking about.”

“You’re serious.” Neal wasn’t sure how he felt about that. It had been a long time since he’d had anyone that wasn’t with him in order to get something from him…and that included Kate. It had only been days since he had thought to himself that his life was far too crowded with people expecting too much from him.

But maybe, Neal was beginning to think, just maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe he could even get used to it. After all, it was a practical adjustment…for his current situation.

He offered a smile, tenuous and not fully his best, and drew Elizabeth’s hand to his mouth to kiss. “Yes, ma’am.”


End file.
